Movement
by Simplybofa
Summary: I stare at my phone. It smiles up at me. Savior on speed dial four, it whispers. It’s gleeful, but I’m pained. Noah. PUCK/KURT TWOSHOT.
1. Chapter 1

**Movement**

It's raining and it's cold. I cough out a breath and it snakes from my mouth in an evil fog. Water is dripping from a shock of hair that's hanging from my forehead. My clothes are soaked and plastered to my body; they feel like another layer of skin.

I bite my lip and force myself to take another step. Streetlights illuminate every fourth square of concrete in front of me. I stride past one of the lit ones quickly, preferring the dark. I hear a crunch as I step through the light and look down for a brief second. A snail is obliterated under my foot and its guts are spilling around it, the rain washing them into the street. Water drips into my eyes and I move on.

My hands are becoming numb. It's getting hard to feel. But I keep moving. My watch, my new shirt, designer shoes: all ruined.

I keep moving.

The rain is falling harder now. The trees sway and struggle under its might, pushing up with their infinite arms. Light illuminates me once again for a spilt second. Then it's over.

Instrumentals play in my mind on an endless repeat. Violins cry and cellos bellow deep laments. Saxophones and clarinets and trumpets bring up the rear with a slow discourse of madness.

I keep moving.

I don't know how far I've gone. My bones are aching and my teeth are brittle. Despite the steady downpour, my eyes feel dry and bloodshot. My cheeks are tingling with the anger of the storm. Pinpricks leave little stings of blood on my face.

I keep moving.

I don't know where I'm going. My heart begins to ache and I'm now desperate. The cellos sob in my mind as I picture a whirlwind of destinations, places, faces and times. The rain stabs me in the back. I feel dreadfully alone.

I keep moving.

I feel as if I know only one person. His face floods my senses and despite my subzero body temperature, my cheeks stain with color. I open my eyes to my location and the rain mocks me as I change my path. The violins giggle with false pride. But I don't feel like he'll mind.

I keep moving.

The door seems monstrous. It looms over me and I can't bring myself to hit it. It's mocking. My breath hitches. My hand is bunched into a fist, tendons stretched tight over knuckles. A single street light twenty concrete squares back is beckoning me. I counted. I turn to step off the porch. The rain is ravenous. It's looking for a victim. The porch shrouds me in a coat of false protection and silence.

I can't move.

My phone weighs in my pocket. My fingers twitch, their minds are on withdrawing it. My mind argues. It's waterlogged… dead. The fingers glide into my jeans pocket, echoing two words. Waterproof case. Waterproof case. My chest heaves with empty exertion as the phone is pulled from saran wrap pants. It weighs heavily in my palm. I stare at it. Its screen jumps to life as I push a button. It smiles up at me. Savior on speed dial four, it whispers. It's gleeful, but I'm pained. I push the small 4. It's beautiful.

Noah.

The rain is screaming at me, now. With my back turned, it feels like a dangerous entity. A demon's breath on the back of my neck. It bellows my name.

Kurt.

I swallow my fright and push the glowing green send. Sadness wracks my body, flowing in torrential bursts as the phone trills a melodious tone. I can't bring it to my ear. My arm has stopped working. Five rings. He won't answer. Six rings. I have to get out of here. Seven rings. My chest clenches as I move toward the blood red end button. Eight…

"Kurt?"

My heart is thrashing in my chest. My mouth is hanging open, frozen in a state of shock. Tears begin to bubble over my lids as his voice registers in my exhausted mind and I force my hand up to my ear.

"Noah?"

It's a whisper… not even that. It sounds raw, full of sorrow. It's desperate. I hate it.

"Where are you?" His voice is alert, demanding. He knows.

I can't speak.

"I hear rain." His voice is a bit softer. Rustling fills my ears and drowns out the trumpets and symbols. The violins quaver in the might of his voice. Footsteps.

My eyes fall to my feet. They're stagnant, surrounded by a black puddle of water. Footsteps that aren't mine. Are they coming from the phone?

No.

Cold clenches my lungs and my breath comes in a sob as the door flies away. Warm arms encase me, scalding my flesh. I can't breathe. Oxygen won't fit down my throat… too many gasping sobs. My body quakes.

The deep cries grate at my chest as I sink into him. He grips me tighter. I might fall. His face is against the side of mine. I feel his jaw clench. His chest is moving erratically, heart searching for a way out.

I can't breathe.

The tighter he crushes me, the less I'm aware of the demons. The rain is drowned out by my struggle for composure. Another sob forces its way out, like vomit. It's ugly, sore. I still hate it.

But my head is calming.

I feel pressure on my forehead. Lips in a kiss of life. They're warm and my body tingles, begging for more. He places them on the side of my neck, kissing the water away. The skin sears where it's touched. My face is turned up and I struggle to open my eyes for the first time.

It's a rebirth.

My vision is sick, marred on all sides. Only the center is distinguishable. Worry graces his features. A steaming finger slides over me, pushing my heavy, wet hair back off of my face. My mind is fighting off the sorrow, taking in its surroundings.

Noah's wearing his glasses.

He leans close, gliding his nose along my cheekbone. Another tear swells down my face, ruining his newly-created path of dry warmth. His lips graze me. They heat my nose, my chin. I hungrily press my mouth to the corner of his. I'm clumsy. I'm lost.

He helps me. He glides his lips over mine, closing in to surround them. The kiss is perfect. It's redemption. Safety. Home.

I'm led into the dark. A cave. My dead eyes can't grasp the black. Warm air circulates, hitting me from all sides. Is this what heat feels like? I struggle for silence but a sharp intake of breath is all I can manage to hide a cry.

I can't control myself.

He leads me around a corner. I grip his arm for life. I would be lost. A sinister squeak resounds throughout the night. The hinges harm the silence. Through his doorway we stop. Dull illumination comes from the street lamp twenty concrete squares away from reality. I shiver.

Noah slides my shirt over my chest. It drips loudly to the carpet. My mouth jumps to life, struggling for apologies.

Shh. He silences.

He holds my arm as I shrug my shoes off. They feel like rocks. Sound like boulders. My pants are next, giving more trouble than they were worth. Black clouds suffused from the corners of my vision as the dark becomes friendlier and he pulls them down. Boxers finally, like skin grafts. I stand alone as the warm air snakes around me, naked and terrified. I sniffle.

Shh. He comforts.

A large ocean of warm cotton sweeps over my head, settling in torrents over my slight frame. Noah bends, the top of his Mohawk becoming his prominent feature. He nudges one of my legs. Icicles. I step into a pair of flannel pants.

Probably not label.

"They're not designer." He whispers into my ear, confirming. A stray tear leaks out of the corner of my eye. The ambiguity of the pants is welcome. I don't care.

My hair is the last of my torment. It drips onto the warm shirt, staining it with misery. I shiver as a towel falls over my head, marring my sight. I gasp in a shaky breath.

Shh. He assures.

He runs the towel over my hair. Gentle. Unfamiliar. I can't equate this kindness with anything experienced before. It smiles at me, bidding me hello. I force myself to breathe.

I can see.

His fingers snake over my wrist, completely enveloping. He pulls me. I drop into quicksand, feeling myself being drawn in. Covers shroud our forms, draping us in fevers. My back to his chest, his heart to my shoulder blades. Muscles clench as he reaches over me, placing his glasses on the table. I choke on my contentment, breathing the smells of Noah.

Arms snake around my chest, drawing me close. A drum beats slowly, rhythmically, against me. My heart matches his. I shiver as his nose glides along my shoulder, left stark and bare from the gaping collar.

I breathe.

His voice is incandescent. Filled with resonate compassion.

"Kurt..."

His breath blows heat on my neck, pushing me under. I turn my body to look up at his face. His is jaw so definite, lips so sculpted and perfect.

"You're alright, now."

I knew. I was assured. Undeserving, but assured. My voice quivers.

"I hope so."

I lie still.

**This is my first Glee oneshot. I majorly ship Noah/Kurt. There should be more of these in the archive... Reviews are highly appreciated so leave your comments. Liked it? Hated it? LOVED it?? Visit my profile to check out more of my stories.**

**Hope you liked it!**

**-Simplybofa**


	2. Chapter 2

**Movement **

**Chapter Two**

It's the worst sound in the world. Like when thunder roars and kids scream. But it's almost inaudible.

Kurt sits up ramrod straight in my bed, griping his chest. His back is heaving, convulsing. I reach in the dark for my sight and once donned, comprehend the full horror of the small boy.

Fuck.

I feel like if I touch him he'll crumble. But he's broken anyway. I hate the sick worry that fills my mind. Fuck it.

His back is cold, like arctic. The second my fingers make contact the earth parts, swallowing him whole.

Fuck.

Another one of those sounds sends chills down my spine, clawing it until it's threaded into the vertebrae. He cries. It's meek, terrible, devastating. He folds into my arm, a piece of crumpled paper.

Fuck.

I don't want to speak. I don't want to push him. What the hell's happened here? I felt like lifting his shirt, his hair, checking inside his ears and palms to see where the Kurt I knew had been beaten back. He was gone. What the hell happened?

Fuck.

I choke back a nervous pit of saliva. I feel like I should man up. Find the demon that's torturing him and crucify it, or something. His sob singes my thoughts. I don't dare ask him. I don't know what in God's name to do.

Fuck.

"Kurt?" The fright in my voice is disgusting. He gags on a cry. I want to rip them from his throat. Take them. Hide them. There is something majorly fucking wrong. He doesn't speak.

Fuck.

I brave the ocean, casting my flag. I need an answer. I need assurance. I need to know he's still with me. So I assert. I dominate.

"Kurt!"

He jumps. Fuck. I scared him. He acts like he's been brought above the surface, out of the water. He stares; his eyes haunt me. His lips, trembling, haunt me. His expression will _always_ haunt me.

Fuck.

He can't speak. He's trying. His mouth is balancing on a live-wire. He might fall. A contorted syllable comes slinking out. It's deadly.

"I…"

I need to tame him. I need to fix the tear. Give me tape. Give me thread. Give me fucking glue. This needs to happen. My claws dig into his arms, groping for live. I squeeze it out of him. He falls against the pillows. They plume around him like a nuclear bomb cloud.

Fuck.

His eyes are shut. He's forcing them closed. His brow is sickly pale and furrowed in desperation. My heart is hurting. I feel like he's created a rift between us so I slide down on my side to rest next to him, always in close proximity.

Be gentle. I force myself. Cautious. He's like this piece of sea-glass that I know I'm going to drop. I'll shatter him into a thousand pieces if I don't watch my step.

"Kurt."

It's a whisper. Like so many others, it's delicate. It's an oxymoron because it's oozing urgency. His down-turned mouth quakes as he struggles for decency, for composure. Because this much pain shouldn't be allowed in one single, tiny body.

Fucking fuck.

"The snail." It's heaving. It's a fragile exclamation. He's bewildered and desperate. The snail?

I slide my arm over him, pulling him in. I'm out of answers, but I need for him to survive. So I drag him under. He lets out an exhausted breath. He's deflated.

"I stepped," He whimpers. "on it." He struggles for life. "I stepped on it." He's still crying. But the tears are silent, ethereal. They glint in the dim street light and possess me. I grapple with what he's said. It's a puzzle I can't comprehend. A snail?

"I feel like I can't breathe." He whispers.

Fuck.

He's scared. His eyes are a book I can decipher with ease. He reads of fright. They're still filled with those tears, but they slide down his cheeks, pooling at his neck. He looks at me and it's unnerving because I don't know what to do.

I don't know what to fucking do.

The kiss is surreal. I'm without words. I lay on top of him, shielding him from those monsters. His cheeks are fiery and I can feel his tears in my hands. He whimpers, clinging to my shirt. I'm sucked into the vortex and I submerge fully as I feel his heart. It's screaming. It's running. It's intoxicating.

I wrap my arms around him. They almost double over around his stick of a body. He wraps a leg around me.

"Noah." He pleads into my mouth. We can't take the pain. It's too much. So I fervently place kisses down his neck as he breathes in the oxygen he was without before. I need to know what's damaged him. I'd kill to know.

Fuck.

**Well, I felt the urge to do a second chapter in the most part because of your awesome reviews. It's not long because it was meant to be an epilogue BUT I am working on the epilogue-to-be right this second. After that it's quitting time. **

**For this story at least.**

**It's in Pucks point of view if you haven't guessed. I decided to give him a definitive quirk and a curse word that rhymed with his last name seemed the perfect one to apply. I really do love these guys. Let me know if this stayed true to the form of the story. Did you like it? Hate it? Again, I would love to hear from you. Thanks for reading.**

**-Simplybofa**


	3. Epilogue

**Movement**

**Epilogue**

I only hear a piano, now. It's always sliding through my mind, comforting and assuring.

Noah put it there. He composed the melody. He doesn't know it, he doesn't have to ever know. But I feel like I should tell him anyway.

I'm okay. I tell myself this every day. Noah tells me every day. I will be okay.

I will.

I pull my head up high. It's a struggle to keep it there, but I manage. I need to be able to do this.

He's standing behind me, I can feel him. They're all standing behind me. If they weren't…

I don't know.

It seems to take forever. Getting there. The white rose weighs heavily in my hand and I finger a thorn, toying with the idea of letting it puncture my finger.

My aunt is in front of me. My cousins are in front of me. Even my Grandma and Papaw are in front of me. We're a death march.

The dirt kicks up from under my shoes as I walk. My new, five hundred dollar Boss shoes. They've lost meaning.

I still feel him, even though I'm far away now. I still feel my sanity. But I've left it behind. Now, I have nothing but that piano song. I force it to burry my thoughts. I force it to hide my emotions. It does a pretty good job.

It's my turn, now. I'm here. My heart rate increases, giving my ribs a dull ache. I can't do it. I turn my head.

Where is it? My salvation? My eyes scan the dark crowd. There. He nods reassuringly. It helps. Tina is next to him. And Finn. Artie. Mercedes. Quinn. Rachel. My eyes travel over my own group of life. They replenish me.

I turn to back face him.

My hand is shaking. I want so bad to not have to do this. I want time to turn back. I want this to never have happened.

I want so, so bad to be able to abstain from crying.

But, as I force my hand over the side of the casket and let the rose fall to his chest, I cant make the tears stop.

I'm so sorry, dad.

My hand hangs limp over him, it itches to touch his face. Or maybe his shirt or eyebrows. It itches to be able to shake his again.

I'm okay.

I have to be okay.

I can't bring myself to leave him. I know I'm holding up the line of mourners, but I don't care. They mean nothing.

I breathe in, memorizing his features and applying them to my piano sonata. It trickles through the recesses of my mind, filling the gaps by intertwining with the picture of his face.

I hope it stays that way.

I hope I'll be okay.

**This is the final insert to this small fiction. Thank you for taking the journey with me. Check out my page for more Glee stories and, also, thank you for reviewing!**

**Happy reading,**

**-Simplybofa**


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